Fields of Gold
by Elie de Lantreuil
Summary: She took both his hands in hers and said, “I am so happy.” She had a big wide smile on her face but her voice sounded like sobs. Unhappy sobs. Desperate sobs.


Fields of Gold  
  
by ELAIS  
  
WIP inspired by Sting's song 'Fields of Gold'.  
  
Summary: The white veil fell soundlessly on the dirty floor. Ron absent- mindedly noticed for the first time that it was covered with cold ashes. All the church, its floor, its walls, its chairs, its benches... all was covered in dust and cold ashes. He heard her ask if everything was all right and he heard himself answer yes. She took both his hands in hers and said, "I am so happy." She had a big wide smile on her face but her voice sounded like sobs. Unhappy sobs. Desperate sobs.  
  
A dream is just a dream, right? Ron discovers it can be much more. So much more.  
  
Written for the R/Hr. fic drive.  
  
R/Hr with hints of H/G Rating PG-13 (may be subject to change.)  
  
To Katie and Debra, for just being themselves... Love you girls! I'll miss you soooo much...  
  
CHAPTER I: The First Dream  
  
You'll remember me when the west wind moves  
  
Upon the fields of barley  
  
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky  
  
As we walk in fields of gold  
  
So she took her love for to gaze awhile  
  
Upon the fields of barley  
  
In his arms she fell as her hair came down  
  
Among the fields of gold  
  
Will you stay with me, will you be my love  
  
Among the fields of barley?  
  
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky  
  
As we lie in fields of gold  
  
See the west wind move like a lover so  
  
Upon the fields of barley  
  
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth  
  
Among the fields of gold  
  
I never made promises lightly  
  
And there have been some that I've broken  
  
But I swear in the days still left  
  
We'll walk in fields of gold  
  
We'll walk in fields of gold  
  
Many years have passed since those summer days  
  
Among the fields of barley  
  
See the children run as the sun goes down  
  
Among the fields of gold  
  
You'll remember me when the west wind moves  
  
Upon the fields of barley  
  
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky  
  
When we walked in fields of gold  
  
When we walked in fields of gold  
  
When we walked in fields of gold  
  
-Sting  
  
His eyes were open. The funny thing was that he knew he was dreaming. He perfectly remembered falling asleep on his bed in the flat he was sharing with Hermione and Harry. He had been exhausted. He had undressed, put on a pyjama bottom and had flung himself on the mattress. He remembered feeling himself fall into a deep sleep.  
  
So he was dreaming. Nothing uncommon to that. He knew that even when you did not remember your dreams, you dreamt every night.  
  
He was aware of the fact that he was dreaming. This was not uncommon either. It happened quite often in fact. He was dreaming and knew, even though he was asleep, that it was not reality. No big deal.  
  
So he was dreaming.  
  
And yet, there was this curious sensation in the pit of his stomach that was telling him it was not a dream.  
  
Not entirely a dream.  
  
He was standing in a rather cold place. Rays of light, filtered by stained glass, were casting red, blue, green, yellow dots around him. He turned his head left and saw Harry standing next to him. Harry nodded at him and smiled. He then turned his head right and so did Ron. He then realized he was standing in a church. People he more or less knew were sitting on both sides of the nave. Music filled his ears, coming from the organs towering over the entrance of the church. Then came a woman in a bright white dress, a very simple yet elegant wedding dress. She was walking towards him.  
  
He looked left again and suddenly noticed a priest standing in front of him, his hands resting on a vivid red Bible, looking stern and not very nice. He had very dark, piercing eyes that were watching him disapprovingly. He had on robes of a deep purple and little glasses. Ron looked away.  
  
He really was at a loss to understand the matter. What was he doing in a church, next to a priest, a veiled bride walking towards him? He pinched himself and felt the pain. He closed his eyes, blinked many times. Nothing changed.  
  
Looking sideways at Harry, he noticed something he had not before. Harry had no scar on his forehead. His eyes were not green, either. They were brown, like his hair, actually. He focused his attention on the rest of the people, slowly turning his head as he watched their clothes. They really were out of fashion and Muggle-like. He thought he recognised his mother among the people in the church but he recognised no one else but Harry.  
  
He closed his eyes shut and shook his head. Strands of hair fell on his face and he ran a hand through his hair. It was long and slightly curly at the ends. It was tied in a low ponytail. When he glanced at his clothes, he realized he had never worn anything of the kind before. In fact, he had only seen pictures of this kind of clothes in 19th century Muggle books that Hermione had shown him once. He was wearing a mustard-coloured suit... well; suit was not exactly the right word. He had a rather tight jacket on, and his pants only covered his legs to below his knees. Long white socks were tucked under his pants. He had black shoes with a belt on them. A white lacy scarf was neatly tied around his neck and his hair was held together with a black velvety ribbon.  
  
The bride arrived next to him in front of the altar and he felt her take his hand in her little left one. He chanced a look at her: he could not see her face at all. It was completely hidden by the white veil. She was holding a bouquet in her hands: white roses and lilies of the valley.  
  
He found himself facing the severe priest and swallowed hard, completely lost. The priest began to talk and everything became a blur, happened in what seemed to him the blink of an eye. The next thing he knew, he was facing the bride and watching his own hands reach for her veil. His left one had a wedding ring on the appropriate finger. He began to lift the veil slowly, revealing inch by inch the face of the woman he had just married.  
  
A blur again.  
  
The woman's face was now completely unveiled and he took in a sharp breath of surprise.  
  
The white veil fell soundlessly on the dirty floor. Ron absent-mindedly noticed for the first time that it was covered with cold ashes. All the church, its floor, its walls, its chairs, its benches... all was covered in dust and cold ashes.  
  
Ron swallowed hard as he looked at Hermione. The bride was Hermione. Except that she was different from the Hermione he knew. Her hair was not bushy but curly and lighter. White feathers were hanging from her long hair. Her eyes were of a startling blue. Yet, this was Hermione. She was looking happy and still... Still there was this sadness, deep in her eyes, a sadness that overwhelmed him. She plunged her eyes in his and it was all he could see: sadness, pain, despair, and grief. All these emotions gripped his stomach and squeezed it so hard he thought he was going to faint.  
  
He heard her ask if everything was all right and he heard himself answer yes. She took both his hands in hers and said, "I am so happy." She had a big wide smile on her face but her voice sounded like sobs. Unhappy sobs. Desperate sobs.  
  
A cold wind suddenly blew in the church and he shivered but she didn't make a move. No one else moved. They all stayed still, watching him. The silence in the church was deafening. Overwhelming.  
  
He freed a hand and lifted it towards her face.  
  
It all happened in a second.  
  
He took a step back as he took in the awful vision in front of him.  
  
The church became darker, the wind made the flames of the candles die. Bloodstains started to stain her white dress and the white flowers. Her hands were covered in blood. She seemed to have hurt herself with the flowers. But there was way too much blood.  
  
Hermione's smile faltered as her face began to decay in front of him. Her face soon became a skull with empty eye-sockets, her long pretty hair falling strand by strand on the floor. He looked down in horror, as her bouquet became a dead child she was hugging close to her bosom.  
  
Tears falling down his cheeks, Ron looked around at the people in the church. They were all still. He then noticed they were bodies. Skeletons stilled in a position. He looked at Harry's face: it was now but a skull with empty eye-sockets and a grin plastered on his lips-free face.  
  
Ron was shaking from head to toe and took a step back as she brought her face an inch to his and implored, pulling the body of the baby even closer to her, "Save us!"  
  
She then let out a piercing scream and evaporated in the air as Ron woke up with a cry, tears rolling down his cheeks.  
  
"NO!"  
  
He sat up in his bed and tried to calm down but he couldn't. It had been a dream, only a dream. Then why was it hurting so much? To his great surprise, he was sobbing like a child, his hands crossed over his heart. It had been a dream and yet he was feeling as if something had been taken away from him. He was panting hard.  
  
Hermione, Harry... all dead.  
  
His best friend's skull, smiling at him... The woman he secretly loved, decaying in front of him...  
  
He could still see her covered in blood, becoming a skeleton and imploring him. What was the meaning of it all? There had to be a meaning... had it been another dream, he would have dismissed it and went back to sleep. But this nightmare had been different.  
  
He slowly got up and shakily went to his door, trying to open it soundlessly. He looked at the closed door in front of him.  
  
Hermione's room.  
  
He shouldn't be opening her door like this in the middle of the night, he knew he shouldn't while opening the door but he had to be sure... had to be sure she was alright. That it had only been a nightmare. Only a nightmare.  
  
She was fast asleep, a small bundle covered by sheets and covers, lost in the middle of her huge bed. Not really thinking about what he was doing, he chanced a step further and then another, watching her with his eyes full of unstoppable tears. He had to resist the urge of touching her cheek, to make sure she was real. Instead, he clenched his fist hard until his knuckles were white and hurting while gulping and then mouthing, "I love you."  
  
He made a quick trip to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. When he looked up at the mirror and saw his own face and noticed how pale he was, he couldn't help but wonder why this nightmare had shaken him that much. He had dreamt of Harry and Hermione being dead before, but it was nothing compared to what he had dreamt of a few minutes before. He had never ever felt like that. He couldn't even define what was that 'that'. Not daring to look at himself in the mirror once more, he dried his face with his towel and went back to his room.  
  
He spent the rest of the night with his eyes wide open and filled with tears he didn't even understand the reason of.  
  
It started out being just a nagging idea... and here it is now. My second WIP. I hope you'll like Fields of Gold. Like La Vie en Rose, I'm writing this as if I was watching it. I hope you'll enjoy this journey through my mind. I'll try to be a good guide. Like it? Hate it? Hit the review button and let me know. Constructive criticism welcome as always. Elais 


End file.
